


A Doubtful Heart

by AFey



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: Happily ever after is not a notion to which Miranda subscribes. Such a concept is best left to the young and naive.





	1. Since I Fell For You

_Love brings such misery and pain_  
_I guess I'll never be the same_

_Since I Fell For You - Buddy Johnson Woodrow_

Happily ever after is not a notion to which Miranda subscribes. Such a concept is best left to the young and naive. A person thus far unscathed by treachery and disloyalty. Someone like Andréa.

She hears her assistant on the phone, whispering words of love, followed by apologies. “I'm sorry, Nate.” She wants to shake the girl and remind her that career ambition is nothing to be apologetic about. But she restrains herself. After all, Miranda Priestly is not one to show interest in the personal lives of her staff.

As the weeks and months pass, she watches Andréa evolve. Fashion illiteracy is eradicated under Nigel's tutelage. Competence and initiative flourish in the face of absurd challenges. Miranda refuses to be surprised, merely taking it as her due.

She heads to Paris, leaving Andréa behind. Breaking her cardinal rule to always have the best team with her during the most important week of her year. It's a decision based on the need for self-preservation. Her second assistant is now a distraction, a threat to the control she must maintain at all time.

Her arrival back in New York is marked by swarming paparazzi. The blinding flash of cameras intent on recording that one instant when her mask drops. Vultures masquerading as journalists, determined to provoke her and unearth a scornful quote. It's amateur hour, and Miranda abhors dealing with such mediocrity.

At _Runway_ , her staff keep their distance as much as possible. She’s trained them well. All except Andréa.

“I'm so sorry, Miranda. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Miranda fixes her with a glare that should inspire dread and fear. Of course it does neither.

“Yes, your job,” she sneers. As if her assistant could do anything to help with the acrimony Stephen insists on wielding like a weapon.

Andréa remains unperturbed. “Well, if you change your mind you know where to find me.”

Miranda shakes her head. There's a fine line between confidence and audacity and her assistant is flirting with danger.

She starts to drink more than usual. A scotch or two at night, turns into three or four. It's incremental. It's harmless. And in no way a sign that she’s not coping. Losing a man like Stephen could never be the catalyst for a descent into despair.

It's not until weeks later that she comprehends the cause of her over-indulgence. As she embraces the numbing effects of alcohol like some desperate lover, Miranda discerns the source of her misery. Andréa.

Alone in her study, she lets out a mirthless laugh at the realisation that she loves her assistant. It's a cliche, and completely pedestrian. So many years at the helm of the world’s foremost fashion magazine and she's coming undone over someone she can never have.

Miranda is not one to believe in deities or a higher power. There is no intelligent design to the universe. No omnipotent figure. Merely chaos that people like her strive to tame and control.

But tonight she sends up a prayer. A plea to be released from the hold that Andréa has over her. She has little faith in being delivered from the misery. But she lives on hope.

                                                                                  *********

_Well it's too bad, and it's too sad  
But I'm in love with you_

_Since I Fell For You - Buddy Johnson Woodrow_

Andy thinks her boss is the most infuriating person she’s ever met. Miranda Priestly is demanding, difficult and cruel. Her expectations are preposterous and yet, Andy strives to meet or exceed each one. She doesn't question why the thrill of achieving the impossible leaves her high for hours.

As time goes by Andy realises that Miranda is also inspiring, with an infallible eye for talent. She mentors those she deems worthy and as such reaps unwavering loyalty in return. It's around this time Andy finds herself extolling the virtues of _Runway_ in general and Miranda in particular. In response, her friends and Nate regard her with disbelief and confusion.

Seven months into her job, the one a million girls would kill for, Andy knows she's in trouble. Her first thought in the morning is not of the man in her bed, but a married woman twice her age. A woman who now seems to appreciate what she does for her, but would no doubt replace her at the slightest mistake or provocation. It's not a healthy dynamic.

By the time Miranda heads to Paris, Andy's relationship is an unsalvageable wreck. Nate tosses around accusations that her loyalty now lies with an ungrateful and abrasive bitch who will never reward her sacrifices. Andy restrains herself from retaliating. The only sacrifice for her would be remaining in a relationship with someone she doesn't love.

When her boss returns from Paris the rumours and gossip follow, snapping at her heels. Miranda rises above it, but there are moments when Andy catches her distracted and aimless. It's not a natural state for the editor and it pains Andy to see her that way.

As expected, her offer to help is spurned. She knows enough by now not to take such a reaction personally. Miranda’s strength and pride are the basis of the armour she always wear, impenetrable to all.

When she delivers the _Book_  each night she hopes that Miranda will summon her. Experience has taught her that one does not venture further than the foyer unless specifically invited. She crosses her fingers and prays, but the request remains unfulfilled.

It's not until her year is up that she examines her feelings closely. When Miranda questions Andy about her career aspirations she is suddenly aware that she never wants to leave her boss's side. She's aghast at just how pathetic this makes her. Falling in love with her much older boss is such a stereotypical move and one that will lead to her destruction.

Side-swiped by the revelation she forgets her earlier plans to write for _Vanity Fair_ or _The New Yorker._ Instead she asks for a recommendation for a job she's seen advertised at _The New York Mirror._ Miranda glares at her and sighs dramatically.

“Andréa, I'm offering you the stars and you're reaching for the moon.”

She shrugs. “It's what I want, Miranda.”

“So be it.” She dismisses Andy with a careless wave of her hand. “That's all.”


	2. Let Her Go

_You see her when you close your eyes_  
_Maybe one day you’ll understand why_  
_Everything you touch surely dies_

_Let Her Go - Passenger_

As she awaits the arrival of the _Book_ , Miranda is ambushed by thoughts of her former assistant. Under the cover of darkness she weaves fantasies of perfection that will be discarded come the harsh light of day. Though her designs embody innovation and beauty, they are stained by their innate impossibility.

Eight months have passed since Andréa‘s departure and there's been no contact. She's not surprised. Only the few assistants that remain at _Runway_ ever stay in her orbit. All the rest no doubt breathe a sigh of relief to be out of her clutches. She cannot expect Andréa to be the exception.

She still has no idea why the other woman was willing to settle for less than she deserved. Working a year as her assistant can lead to a job at any magazine, and yet Andréa maintained her desire to work for a second-rate newspaper. Though she's loath to admit it, Miranda's insulted that her influence and power were so carelessly rejected.

When the front door opens, it's just after ten o’clock. Her barely adequate assistant carries out the expected tasks quickly. No summons are ever issued for the girl to enter her study. Such gestures are limited to the truly special of whom there are very few.

She finishes her nightly beverage and places the empty glass on her desk. Pellegrino, not scotch, her conscious choice. Miranda no longer drinks alone and only indulges in a single glass of alcohol when forced to socialise. Having glimpsed the slippery slope of dependence, she imposes restraint.

At her core, Miranda's a realist. While her feelings remain stubbornly unchanged, distance from Andréa is a psychic balm. The misery of months ago has abated, subverted into working even harder and focusing on her daughters. Denied a miraculous invention self-discipline is, as always, her panacea.

Flights of fantasy aside, she knows there's no fairy-tale ending for the likes of her. She's divorced from one husband, separated from another, and seemingly lacking the temperament necessary to sustain a stable relationship. A lesser woman would regard this as a curse. For her, it's a simple fact. The Snow Queen and Her Former Assistant isn't a story with a happy resolution. The assistant leaves and never returns; the end.

 

_Staring at the ceiling in the dark  
Same old empty feeling in your heart_

_Let Her Go - Passenger_

 

Andy rues the day she ever laid eyes on her former boss.  Stuck at work on a Friday night, plugging her way through the most mundane of stories, she wishes she’d taken the job at _Auto Universe_ instead of _Runway_. Maybe then she'd stop tormenting herself with the memory of Miranda offering ‘the stars’ and her own obstinate refusal.

All those months ago her priority was to leave the magazine as quickly as possible. The startling realisation that she loved the editor a ticking time bomb set to detonate as soon as Miranda became aware. Such an accomplished, gorgeous, _straight_ woman would never welcome adoration from someone like her. No, better to have left with dignity intact and her secret safely concealed.

Another hour passes before she's satisfied with her article. It's not groundbreaking work, but she submits it with a sense of pride nonetheless. Any job she tackles is worth doing to the best of her ability. A certain silvered-haired editor taught her that and such a lesson, once learned, is never forgotten.

She makes her way through the open-plan office, bidding farewell to her remaining colleagues. Though this job may not foster her talent in the way she'd hoped, Andy finds the _Mirror_ to be a much better fit than her former workplace. At least here she doesn’t feel like she's in some way fundamentally wrong. While she ultimately conformed to the _Runway_ aesthetic, it was never a comfortable transformation.

The subway ride home is uneventful. Out on the street she walks quickly, plans for the weekend prominent in her mind. Brunch with Doug on Saturday. Movies with Lily on Sunday. The rest of the time she plans to relax and work on a freelance article. An entire weekend off is rare and a luxury she appreciates.

She arrives at her apartment building and collects the mail - a phone bill and the latest copy of _Runway_.  The former a necessity of modern life, the latter her guilty obsession.  She may have escaped from Miranda as quickly as professional decorum allowed, but the temptation to maintain some sort of connection proved too hard to resist.  Flipping through the glossy pages each month is both an act of worship and an exercise in torture.

When she enters her apartment, Andy decides to skip dinner. All she feels like is a hot shower and a relatively early night.  By the time she's ready for bed, exhaustion settles in like a faithful companion.  Not even the allure of reading Miranda's editorial letter can sway her from the decision to retire for the night.

With the apartment cloaked in darkness she makes herself comfortable in bed. Watching the play of city lights across the ceiling, Andy wonders yet again when her fixation with Miranda will end. She knows she feeds it with her unwillingness to completely sever ties, as one-sided and flimsy as they may be.  Yawning and rolling onto her right side, she ponders for the thousandth time why the hell this love leaves her so hollow inside. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Based on the movie, the stories I write usually have Andy out of contact with Lily. In the movie, I find her willingness to benefit from Andy's job and yet criticise her to be profoundly annoying. However, this time around I wanted them to still be friends.
> 
> 2\. Though I wanted Miranda and Stephen to be divorced, checking out the New York divorce laws that existed at this time (pre-2010) it seems that this would have only been likely if there'd be an 'at fault' divorce. And I didn't want the Miranda in this story to be having to endure a completely douchey ex-husband...though he's still somewhat of a douche. ...


	3. I Like to Believe You Are Thinking of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy makes an interesting discovery and hopes it is not just wishful thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this was like pulling teeth so I hope it doesn't suck too much. Feedback, but not flames, are welcome :)

_In the morning when you wake up  
I like to believe you are thinking of me _

_Tee Shirt - Birdy_  

When Andy wakes the next day, the feeling of hollowness remains. After so many months the sensation is both familiar and frustrating. Like countless mornings before, she resolves to stop fixating on the impossible, reassuring herself that the one-sided love she's been stoking will fade once starved of attention.

Her good intention lasts until she spies the latest copy of _Runway_ gracing her bedside table.  Andy knows resistance is the smart option, but instead she succumbs to the seduction of ‘just one more time’.  One final act of worship before her formal renunciation. Anything less, she's convinced, would be disrespectful.

Twenty minutes on, she's surrounded by multiple issues of the magazine, each opened to a particular page.  She's amazed by her discovery and wonders how she's previously failed to spot such an obvious pattern. Within this context, it definitely seems like a deliberate effort on Miranda's part. But perhaps it's purely wishing thinking; desire casting illusions onto that which is completely neutral and innocent.  

Desperate to confirm it’s not her imagination running wild, she's tempted to ring Doug and insist on breakfast rather than brunch. But Andy knows from experience he won't appreciate being woken before seven on a Saturday morning. Cursing her tendency to rise early, she decides a change of scenery might provide some much needed perspective.

An hour later, the pointlessness of the yoga class strikes her. Instead of concentrating on her breathing and focusing on the now, she's completely distracted by giddiness and fantastical visions of the future. The realisation that perhaps her hope is not completely futile, producing a high that seems almost illicit.

By the time they reach the corpse pose she's vibrating at a level far removed from centred relaxation. In retrospect, running would have been a more appropriate activity this morning. A morning that might herald a new beginning if she’s lucky rather than completely delusional. She's hoping Doug will verify it's the former rather than the latter.

Much later she sits  with him in a cafe, sipping her second mimosa and consuming the perfection combination of carbs and fat. Though keen to share her news, Andy holds back. He seems intent on telling her some very complicated story about his night out and she can't bring herself to interrupt.

“And then the Spice Girls asked me to go on tour with them.”

“Hmm.”

“Of course, I declined.”

“Oh,” she replies before taking another sip of her drink. The alcohol really isn't doing a very good job of relaxing her.

“It wouldn't be the same without Ginger.”

“I suppose not,” she agrees. A frown mars her face as she puts her glass back down on the table. “Huh, what did you just say?”

Doug waves his fork at her, a look of triumph on his face. “Yes! I knew you weren't really listening, Sachs.”

“I'm sorry, Dougie,” she says, embarrassed to have so obviously lost track of the conversation.

He laughs it off, puts his fork down, and then reaches for his drink. “No harm done.”

Andy watches as he finishes the rest of his bellini, wondering how on earth she can raise the issue that's prominent in her mind. Having been so eager to confide before, she now finds herself rather reticent. She's not at all keen to be regarded as some fanciful fool.

After placing the empty glass on the table, he pins her with an intense gaze. “So, what's up with you?”

Even with such an obvious opening, she's still reluctant to proceed.

“Well…”

“Out with it, Andy. Hesitation doesn't suit you.”

She looks around the cafe, gathering her courage. Returning her eyes to his, she blurts out the words she's been clinging to all morning.

“I think Miranda Priestly’s in love with me.”

She's impressed that his face only reflects a mild degree of surprise at such an unexpected announcement.  

"Okay. And this is a good thing because..."

Andy swallows nervously and looks down at the table. "It's a good thing because..umm..."  She clears her throat before continuing, "Well, the thing is...I'm in love with her, too."

Greeted by silence, Andy raises her head and meets his eyes, relieved to find both warmth and compassion.

"Yeah, we know sweetie," he says placing a comforting hand over hers.  

She raises an eyebrow in response and abruptly asks, "We?"

He shrugs, smiling a little at her attitude. "Lily and I worked it out a few months ago."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"We thought we'd wait until you brought it up."

"I see." Andy sighs and shakes her head in disappointment. "Here I thought I was being discreet." 

"I doubt anyone else has noticed.  But we've known you for years, Andy.  We can tell when you're pining."

"And how did you know it was over Miranda?"

"Besides the fact you rarely mention her name, but when you do it's to defend her honour or sing her praises?"

"Oh."

He squeezes her hand and then pulls away. "Anyway, we've gotten a little off track."

"Yeah, I guess so." 

"Why do you think Miranda's in love with you?" 

"It's probably easier if I just show you." 

*********

Two hours later they're in her apartment, along with Lily, and once more Doug's spouting his opinion. By now, she's sorry she asked for it. They've been going around in circles so long Andy's feeling dizzy.

"Miranda Priestly may be unpredictable but she's not going to use her editorial position to woo a former assistant,” Doug proclaims from the couch, polishing off yet another glass of wine. "I think you're both seeing what you want to see."

Andy glares at him, her hand tightening around the stem of her glass. Her earlier optimism is being ground down by his stupid logical analysis.

Beside her on the floor, Lily grabs the latest copy of _Runway_ and points at the page in question. “What do you know about artistic expression, Doug?” She gestures at the other issues of the magazine, “You may know fashion, but I know art and I'm telling you, we’re not imagining it.”

Andy smiles at Lily, grateful for her support. They may have had some tense moments when she worked at _Runway_ , but her friend is always there for her when it really matters.  When Nate walked out, it was Lily who helped her find a cheaper apartment. And it was her friend that pointed out that she shouldn't waste her time on someone who didn't appreciate her ambition and passion.

Doug shakes his head before grabbing the wine bottle off the floor. He peers at it closely, then announces, “We're getting low, ladies.”

“It's fine," Andy mumbles, placing her half empty glass on the coffee table. "I've had enough.” 

Lily pats her on the arm and gets up off the floor, making her way to the couch. Taking the bottle from Doug's hand she sits down beside him. “Actually, I think you've both had enough.”

"Yeah, you're probably right Lil," he replies, settling back on the couch.  "Just ignore me, Andy."  He yawns, then continues, "Remember, I'm just a drunk and unimaginative corporate research analyst.  I know nothing."

 *********

It's nine o'clock and they're sitting on her couch, finishing up their pizza. Doug, in what he claimed was a display of maturity, bailed an hour before with strict instructions to get an early night.  

"What should I do, Lily?"  

The other woman smirks, before responding, "Well, we both know what you  _want_ to do."  

Andy blushes and rests her head on Lily's shoulder.

"I don't think showing up at Runway and offering to go down on her is really the smartest plan."

Lily giggles and drapes an arm around her. "No, I think that might be a bit too scandalous for the likes of Miranda Priestly."

"I'm still surprised you're not appalled by the whole idea.  She's not exactly your favourite person in the world."

"That's true," Lily replies. "But, you're my favourite person and you love her.  Besides, she did write you an awesome recommendation."  

Andy yawns and realises it probably is time to think about heading to bed. 

"You know, she was really annoyed when I insisted the job at the Mirror was the one I wanted."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Andy responds and then sighs. "I couldn't wait around for a better opportunity, though. Hiding how I felt about her was too fucking painful."

"Isn't it wild to think she probably felt the same? I mean, like I said before, I'd heard the rumours that she probably wasn't straight-"

Andy elbows her gently. "By the way, thanks for filling me in."

"Oh, honey. I didn't want to get your hopes up unnecessarily."

"And now?"

"Well, those Chanel spreads seem fairly unambiguous."

"I'm really not imagining it am I?

"No, Andy. I really don't think you are."  

Andy pulls away from Lily and smiles. “So, I'm kinda like Miranda Priestly's muse?"

"Christ, you're going to be insufferable aren't you?"

"Yes, definitely," she replies before groaning. "I still don't know what the hell to do about it."

"Let's sleep on it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I noted before that I wanted to have a less sucky version of Lily in this story. I figure in this alternative version of DWP she may have been resented the presence of Miranda at times, but she was always Team Andy.


	4. I May Know the Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda receives a gift of the unexpected kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone following this story, apologies for the slowness in updating. And a bigger sorry for its length. Hopefully you enjoy it anyway. :)
> 
> (Written for the prompt - “photo shoot” and for Challenge #1 of The Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics Writer’s Bingo).

_I may know the word_  
_But not say it_  
_This may be the time_  
_But I might waste it_

_I May Know The Word - Natalie Merchant_

At the end of yet another busy week, Miranda sits in her study trying to complete her latest editor’s letter. Despite her best efforts, she’s far too distracted by thoughts of Andréa to make any real progress. In disgust she sighs, saves her document and removes her glasses. While self-discipline is a quality she’s well-known for, lately there are more and more times when it proves an elusive stranger.

She rises from her chair, deciding that a cup of tea and change of space might help her regain focus. As she walks down the hallway, the usual ‘ _what ifs_ ’ and ‘ _if onlys_ ’ bubble to the surface - ‘ _what if I wasn’t twice her age?’_ ; ‘ _what if I was better at intimate relationships’_ ; ‘ _if only I told her how I felt before she_ _left’_ and the most telling one of all, ‘ _if only I deserved her love.’_ That last one is almost enough to break her resolve to not indulge in the numbing balm of alcohol.

Whenever she’s caught up in this pointless neural loop, Miranda wonders what happened to her pledge to never become overly attached to anyone. Other than her daughters, and to a much lesser extent her husbands, she’s proven fairly immune to the need for connection. Andréa of course is the glaring exception and it’s one that poses a major threat to her detached professionalism.

Since her former assistant left _Runway_ , Miranda’s been fooling herself that more and more work will cure her obsession. She now realises that what she feels for Andréa is glaringly obvious to anyone capable of reading the signs. Luckily for her, most people are blind to the language in which she is most fluent.

The one person who is equally fluent of course is Nigel and it's his direct remarks in the last few weeks that have highlighted the danger posed by Andréa. While everyone else seems convinced she’s simply nurturing the raw talent of a new model, in private he’s made his suspicions clear.

“ _Miranda, we need more variety in the Chanel shoots. We can’t feature Ava every month.”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous, Nigel. She’s exquisite.”_

_“She’s a model. Of course she’s exquisite. But the doe-eyed, porcelain skinned brunette look is getting a little old.”_

_“She has the right aesthetic and-”_

_“Is that what we’re calling Six, now? Aesthetic?”_

A pursing of her lips and a pointed glare ended their conversation but not before it brought Miranda to her senses. The next day she’d sent an email demanding blondes and redheads for any upcoming shoots, and arranged alternative opportunities for Ava. Without doubt, the young woman has a promising future in the industry but she needs to be somewhere far from _Runway_.

As she makes her way to the kitchen, Miranda picks up the mail sitting on the designated table in the foyer. Amongst the usual mundane items is a large envelope addressed to her, with no return address. Usually such a occurrence would result in the offending item being discarded, but tonight she welcomes the diversion from her introspection.

She opens the envelope and extracts its contents - five large photographs and a slip of paper. Once she spots the subject of the photographs, she abandons all hope of finishing her work. Goosebumps dance their way across her body and she swallows hard. Somehow she makes her way to the kitchen and manages to sit down without injury. Either this is the greatest present she’s ever received or the cruelest joke.

She unfolds the piece of paper, seeking the answer and frowns when she sees the unfamiliar handwriting and the opening salutation.

_Dear Ms Priestly,_

_I’m sure Andy will kill me when she finds out I’ve sent you these photos, but I thought you may be interested in them._

_I’m sure even someone without your artistic flair would clearly see what we’ve tried to achieve, despite our lack of money and lack of access to the latest fashions. However, I’m sure you’ll agree the photographer (and model!) did a wonderful job capturing the essence of your vision._

_I’ve attached Andy’s business card if you’d like to contact her to discuss this or anything else for that matter._

_Sincerely,_

_Lily_

_P.S. If you hurt her in any way I’ll be forced to respond in an entirely appropriate manner._

By the time she reaches the end of the letter, Miranda is leaning towards gift but has no idea how to proceed. With no one to act as a sounding board, she decides a good night’s sleep might provide her with the way forward.


	5. Do You Really Want to Know Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy receives a rather unexpected invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, to anyone reading this story....apologies for the absolute tardiness of this update. Miranda would disapprove of the glacial pace of my writing.
> 
> Thanks to Nival_Vixen for reading this update and reassuring me that it’s not a total snoozefest :)

_Do you really wanna know me?  
Do you care what's inside?_

_Do You Really Want To Know Me - Alannah Myles_

Andy stands by the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish making two overly complicated cocktails that Lily insists are divine. The blue hue mocks her and she can’t help rolling her eyes at Lily as the drinks are placed in front of them.

“What did you say these were called?” Andy asks after the first sip of the potent concoction.

“Cerulean City Iced Teas,” says Lily with a knowing smirk.

Andy shakes her head at yet another reminder of Miranda. Since the revelation that her former boss might be, not just into women, but into her specifically, Andy’s been waging an exhausting mental battle. One moment she’s convinced that calling Miranda is a completely sane decision. The next she remembers that life is not a fairy-tale. In reality, not everyone gets their happily-ever-after.

They make their way across the crowded room, heading for a secluded table where a private conversation might actually be possible. It’s been two weeks since she’s seen Lily. The same number of weeks since she succumbed to her best friend’s inane idea of a spontaneous photo shoot.  Of course, there had been nothing spontaneous about it. Lily’s friend, an up-and-coming photographer, just happened to be in town. And the designer clothing in Lily’s apartment, seasons old but still in immaculate condition, all suited Andy’s size-four frame. She blames the champagne for her willingness to go along with the ludicrous plan.

Once they’ve taken their seats, Lily gives her a sheepish look. “I have a confession to make.”

Andy lets out a groan. “Oh, God. Statements like that never bode well.”

She watches closely as Lily takes a large sip of her drink and then places the glass on the table, all while avoiding eye contact.

“Well, you remember when Alex was in town and we thought re-creating a fashion spread would be great practice for him?”

“You mean the night you plied me with champagne and tricked me into posing like a Runway model?”

“Same difference,” Lily replies. “The fact remains those photos were amazing. You looked incredible and the composition was spectacular.”

“What does it matter?” Andy asks. “You promised to delete the photos.”

Silence greets her and suddenly Andy has a horrible feeling she knows exactly what Lily is going to confess.

Andy sighs and takes a quick sip of her drink. “Please don’t tell me you kept them.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you that,” Lily replies, her eyes fixed on her drink.

“That’s not all is it?” Andy asks with genuine fear, placing her glass back on the table _._

“No. I may have, you know, sent copies to Miranda.”

Andy buries her head in her hands, hoping to block out the feeling of complete humiliation. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Lily! What the hell have I ever done to you?” 

“But you look stunning in Chanel!” Lily exclaims. “And some of those photos could easily make it into an issue of Runway.” 

Andy raises her head and fixes Lily with a dubious look. “Let’s not get carried away. Anyway, that’s beside the point. You promised to delete them! Christ, what’s Miranda going to think?”

“She’ll think you received her message,” Lily says with so much certainty that Andy almost believes her.

“Seriously, Lily. With friends like you, who needs enemies?”

******

Three days after Lily’s confession, Andy sits at her desk under a flickering fluorescent light, trying to finish up her latest article. Although she’s finally working on a story that qualifies as interesting, her focus wavers. Playing through her mind is a constant loop of embarrassment - the idea of Miranda seeing her posed in Chanel literally makes her face flush and her body shudder.  On the list of cringe-worthy moments in her life, this one takes first place. 

She still can’t believe Lily sent Miranda photos that were supposed to be destroyed. Of all the audacious things Lily has done during their ten-year friendship this is no doubt the worst. Sure she had good intentions, but seriously? In what universe would Lily’s actions lead to anything positive? At this point, the only thing that keeps Andy calm is the stark reality that Miranda has not reacted. No mocking pronouncement about how she has no business draping herself in Chanel and posing like Priestly-approved _Runway_ models. Silence, it turns out, is indeed golden.

“Sachs,” says a deep voice, just before an envelope lands on her desk. “Stop daydreaming about winning a Pulitzer.  Deadline’s in an hour.” 

Andy looks up and rolls her eyes at the smirk on Mark’s face. He’s a nice enough guy but comedy is really not his forte.

“Totally under control,” she lies.

“Sure it is,” he says in a knowing voice before walking away.

She glances down at the large envelope and swallows a surprised gasp when she notices the handwriting. The words are neat, precise and to the untrained eye, completely unremarkable. She traces a finger over her own name, like somehow this will magically reveal the contents hidden inside.

Her fingers play with the seal of the envelope and she looks around the room to make sure no one is paying attention. Thankfully the colleagues she can see from her cubicle are focused on their work. Just like she should be of course.

Then again, she would lay good money on the certainty that none of them are dealing with such a mind boggling turn of events.  Miranda Priestly has taken time out of her busy schedule to send her, _Andy Sachs_ , mail.  Mail that requires a large envelope...

Andy swallows nervously as she realises the envelope is the perfect size to send photos in the mail. An image flashes through her mind : words comprised of angry, red letters spelling out just how lacking and mediocre Miranda finds the subject of the photos.

In a rush, she reaches under her desk, retrieves her messenger bag and wastes no time jamming the envelope inside. With little care she throws the bag back under her desk. Out of sight, out of mind.  

New plan : concentrate on her work, forget about Miranda Priestly, and somehow make it to the end of the day before she opens that god forsaken envelope.

As plans go, it’s more successful than not.

******

‘Okay, it’s showtime,’ Andy thinks as she sits on the couch and brandishes a letter opener. Waiting four hours to find out what Miranda has sent her has been torture.

As she opens the envelope, all speed and no care, Andy realises that maybe she’s underestimating Miranda. While she fears the cold, calculating eye of Runway’s formidable editor-in-chief, there’s clearly another side to Miranda. A side that loves her daughters and expresses disappointment when assistants reach for the moon instead of the stars. After all unless Andy’s mistaken, Miranda’s editorial choices have made it clear what she thinks of her.

Andy removes the envelope’s contents and yes, it’s the photos that Lily sent, along with a folded piece of thick, cream-coloured notepaper. She peruses the photos, trying to imagine Miranda’s thoughts when she viewed them. She shudders a little as she unfolds the notepaper, not sure if she’s ready for Miranda’s verdict.

“ _Dear Andréa,_

_As I’m sure you’re aware, I received these without your permission._

_Though I’ve always been quite fond of the subject of these photographs, I feel it’s not my place to keep them without your consent._

_If, by chance, you are happy for me to keep them, please contact me at home so we can make suitable arrangements._

_Miranda”_

Andy smiles. From anyone else the note would be underwhelming, but from Miranda Priestly, the sentiment is practically gushing. Miranda has admitted to being fond of Andy, and wants to be contacted at home. Andy recognises a gift when it’s offered.

What to do with this gift though, that’s the issue. Yes, Miranda is ‘quite fond’ of her, but what does that mean? Is it just her youth that’s appealing? Her looks and fashion sense that improved while she was at _Runway?_ Or does Miranda see her ambition and appreciate her need to be successful? Does she see the real Andy?

With the note in her hand, Andy rises from the couch and heads towards the bedroom. Reaching her overstuffed bookcase, she removes the latest copy of Runway and opens it to the editor’s letter. Like always, her stomach clenches a little at the sight of Miranda’s photo, the perfect pose bringing back both positive and negative memories of her time as an assistant. She places the note inside the magazine and lays it on her bedside table.

With a glance in the mirror, she sits on her bed and removes her boots. Maybe after a shower, she’ll be brave enough to pick up the phone and call Miranda. Maybe.

******

Miranda sits in her study, half-heartedly reviewing the _Book._ Her best intentions to not indulge in thoughts of Andréa were undermined the moment she stepped foot inside the empty house. By her calculations, the invitation she extended should have been received at least three days ago. With no response forthcoming her foolish hopes have been obliterated. From now on, she’ll restrict her risking-taking to the far more predictable arena of business.

A loud knock at the door disrupts her thoughts, and for once she’s grateful for the interruption. When she arrives in the foyer though, her irritation flares. At 9pm on a Friday night, who on earth has the temerity to disturb her? The girls are away so it can’t possibly be one of their many school friends, all of whom know better than to turn up unannounced anyway. 

“Who’s there?” Miranda demands, her eyes fixed on the shadow visible beyond the door’s glass panels. 

A familiar voice responds, “It’s me, Miranda.”  

Miranda resists the urge to fling the door wide in delight and instead opens it slowly. At the sight that greets her, Miranda swallows nervously and suddenly feels self conscious about her casual attire. It’s an odd feeling and not one she’s experienced since becoming editor-in-chief of _Runway._

“Good evening, Andréa,” she says in a nonchalant voice, like a former assistant turning up at her door in one of the latest Chanel designs is in no way out of the ordinary. 

“Hi,” comes the reply, with no hint of nervousness. “I’d thought I’d hand deliver these,” Andréa continues, holding out an envelope that has seen better days.

“Thank you,” Miranda says, reaching out to take the envelope. As Andréa‘s fingers lightly brush hers, Miranda swallows an unexpected gasp.

“Would you like to come inside?” 

“Yes, I’d love to.”

Miranda moves from the doorway, allowing Andréa to make her way into the townhouse. She takes every opportunity to appreciate the legs on display below the classic black shift dress. She stifles the thought of removing the accompanying cream-coloured jacket and searching for the hidden zipper on the dress.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, Miranda glances up and notices the broad smile on Andréa‘s face.

“How exactly did you acquire Karl’s latest design?” Miranda asks in her most uninterested voice, trying to gain control of the situation. Being caught in a moment of lust is an unfamiliar position to be in.

“Nigel said it was your favourite,” Andréa replies simply. 

Miranda rolls her eyes. “Of course he did. Far be it for him to keep a secret.”

“To be fair, I think he was so shocked when I called for help that he sort of blurted it out against his will.”

“Well, I suppose no harm’s been done,” she says rather charitably. “I’m almost finished with the Book,” she lies. “Can I interest you in a glass of wine?”

“Definitely,” says Andréa. “Your study?” 

“Yes,” she replies, pointing down the hallway, and watching with pleasure as Andréa turns and walks away with long, confident strides. Perhaps it’s a little soon to be giving up hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are still persisting with this WIP, and it’s sporadic update schedule, then I thank you!


	6. Underneath it All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Storm for her ongoing encouragement.
> 
> And an even bigger thank you to the person who offered pertinent advice and asked some vital questions that really made me think much harder about the essence of this chapter.

_You want to love me_  
_Underneath it all_  
_I'm really lucky_  
_Underneath it all_  
  
_Underneath it All - No Doubt_

Andy sits on the couch, a glass of wine in hand, and pretends that being in Miranda’s presence is not doing weird things to her stomach. Clad in jeans and a black off the shoulder sweater, hair just the slightest bit tousled, Miranda looks sublime poised on the armchair across from her. She watches as Miranda’s finger grazes the lip of her wine glass, eyes fixed on the envelope lying on the coffee table between them.  
  
She’s still amazed that Miranda invited her inside the townhouse, let alone the study. Unfortunately, her decision to arrive unannounced now seems misguided rather than brave. Small talk, never Miranda’s strong suit, only lasts so long in any social exchange and they reached their fill minutes earlier.  Without a doubt, the prevailing mood in the room is best described as awkward.  
  
Lacking a firm plan, which seems completely ridiculous given her audience, Andy blurts out the first words that present themselves for sacrifice.  
  
“So, I guess gorgeous editors really do prefer brunettes.”  
  
“That’s not entirely true,” Miranda says, as her eyes meet Andy’s.  
  
“Oh,” she replies, the feeling of hope smothered in an instant. She puts down the wine glass, the desire for alcohol quashed.  
  
“No. I’d say it’s more like middle-aged editor entertains feelings for someone far too good for her.”  
  
Andy shakes her head. “Don’t I get to decide that? There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Miranda. Perhaps you’re too good for me?”  
  
She waits while Miranda takes a small sip of wine before placing her glass on the coffee table.

A few moments of silence follow and then the envelope is in Miranda’s hand. “I’d still like to keep the photographs. If that’s alright with you?”  
  
“Actually, no. It’s not alright, Miranda,” she says, proud of how firm her voice sounds. “We’re a package deal.”  
  
“Well, then. I guess that’s all.”

Andy launches herself from the couch, which is a miracle of sorts since Miranda’s change of mood has left her stunned. Forget Devil in Prada. Miranda the Mercurial seems more apt at this point.  
  
Hands on hips, she tries for a Priestly-like glare. “What’s going on, Miranda? You seemed pleased to see me at your door, and now you’re pushing me away.”  
  
A resigned sigh reaches her and then Miranda removes the photos, placing the envelope in her lap. The interest in her eyes contrasts with the pursing of her lips.  
  
“While I was fetching the wine I received a text from Nigel.”  
  
“So?” Andy asks, not even trying to work out what that means.

Miranda pores over the photos, completing ignoring Andy. “He kindly reminded me of the campsite rule.”  
  
“The one coined by Dan Savage?” Andy asks with suspicion, her hands dropping from her hips. Suddenly she has a fair idea of where Miranda’s mind has travelled.

“Yes.” Miranda says, placing all the photos, bar one, back into the envelope. “Do you really believe I’d leave you in a state as good as the one I found you in?”

“I was actually hoping you’d never want to leave me,” Andy whispers.

“Oh, Andréa,” Miranda replies in a gentle voice, a glimmer of tears revealed when she meets Andy’s gaze. “You know my track record with relationships. Why on earth would you risk your heart to a sardonic Snow Queen like me?”  
  
Andy feels the spark of encouragement and takes a step closer to Miranda. “Because, I love you and I think I deserve the chance to be happy.”  
  
“You really think I can make you happy?”  
  
“I’m an adult, Miranda. It’s not your job to make me happy. But I do expect you to treat me with respect. And I think, together, we’d be our best selves.”  
  
“Darling,” Miranda says, beckoning towards her. “I assure you that respect is the very least you can expect.”  
  
Andy grasps the offered hand and notes with satisfaction how Miranda relaxes in response.

“Well,” she says, sitting on the arm of Miranda’s chair. “I look forward to seeing what else you can offer.”  
  
“As do I,” Miranda agrees, and Andy is delighted to see her lips settle into a contented smile.

She motions toward the photo in Miranda’s lap. “Is that your favourite?”

“Indeed,” comes the reply, and Andy quivers as she feels the caress of Miranda’s thumb. “It’s captivating.”

Andy smiles a little, gazing at the photo she felt mortified by weeks earlier. “I was giddy with champagne,” she explains. “It was late and all I could think about was you.” She squeezes Miranda’s hand and says, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to see you again.”

“And now you have,” Miranda says, looking up at Andy.

“Now I have,” she agrees, leaning down to kiss Miranda like she’s been dreaming about for months.

******

It’s still dark outside when Miranda wakes up the next morning. She stretches and yawns, refreshed by the most restful sleep she’s had in years. After visiting the bathroom, she heads towards the guest bedroom, a strategically placed lamp guiding her way. A quick glance inside confirms Andréa is still asleep and Miranda gently shuts the door. She has no regrets that they’ve decided to spend more time together before tumbling into bed. From the heated kisses they’d shared last night, she’s convinced that whenever it happens, the sex will be unparalleled.  
  
As she descends the stairs, Miranda shifts into editor mode. The _Book_ still requires countless corrections, but she reasons a cup of coffee can only help in that endeavour. Turning on lights as she goes, Miranda retrieves her glasses, a pen, the _Book_ and post-it notes from her study and then moves towards the kitchen.

Once there, she deposits everything on the kitchen island and sits down on a stool. She puts on her glasses and flicks through the _Book_  until she reaches the latest Chanel spread. With a flash of annoyance, Miranda is reminded of Nigel. She purses her lips, taking up her pen in vengeance and by the time she’s done, several post-it notes are filled with comments. Although the model is beautiful, the layout itself is multiple shades of wrong and her staff obviously need to rectify their countless mistakes.  
  
“What’s that poor girl ever done to you?” a teasing voice asks. “Other than not be me, of course.”  
  
Miranda flinches in surprise but relaxes as Andréa places an arm around her shoulders. She turns her head and drinks in the vision beside her: adorably rumpled hair, pillow creases adorning a perfect face, and a body with curves that she most definitely appreciates.  
  
“The model is perfectly acceptable,” she says, reaching up to cover Andréa’s hand. “Though she pales in comparison to you,” Miranda adds, her eyes fixed on the enticing swell of silk-covered breasts.

“See something you like?” Andréa asks, and Miranda’s delighted when she looks up and is rewarded with an amused smile.

“Well, I’ve always been rather fond of those pyjamas.”

A light smack on her arm is followed by a kiss on her cheek and a whisper in her ear, “Is that all?”

“We both know I’m very fond of what’s inside those pyjamas.”

“Hmm,” Andréa says, pulling away slightly. “One could even say you find it...inspiring?”

Miranda smiles a little and turns her attention back to the _Book_. “One would not be wrong,” she confirms.

“It took me months to realise.”

Miranda frowns down at the photos of the model who, on her direction, bears no resemblance to Andréa. “I was consumed by thoughts of you,” she confesses, her voice quiet. “And not just your beauty,” she adds. “I’m not some middle-aged cliche trying to reclaim my lost youth.”

“I know, Miranda. And I’m not a gold-digger looking to use your influence to further my career.”

Miranda glances up, a mock glare in place. “Oh, I’m well aware of that,” she says, shifting off the stool and standing in front of Andréa. “‘It’s what I want, Miranda,’” she mimics fondly, resting her hands on Andréa’s waist.

A groan greets her and then, “That was a decision based on a very sound reason.”

“And what reason might that be?” Miranda asks, as she trails her fingers along perfect curves.

“I was in love with my gorgeous boss and needed to escape before she realised.”

“Is that so,” she says, her hands reaching around to squeeze a silk-clad backside. “Hmm, just as well you did. An affair with my assistant would have be so...tawdry.”

“I agree.”

“Besides,” Miranda says, kissing Andréa’s neck. “This was most definitely worth the wait.”

“Definitely,” Andréa sighs.

******

Ten minutes later Andy stands in the kitchen, watching with fascination as Miranda sits gracefully on a stool, devoting her attention once more to the _Book._

“This layout is unbelievable” Miranda says, the disdain in her voice obvious before she takes a sip of coffee.

Andy hides a grin and casually says, “I see the morning coffee is yet to kick in.”

Miranda’s eyes flick up to hers and then focus back on her work. “That’s beside the point. Nigel knows better than to assault my eyes with such…”  
  
“Mediocrity?”  
  
Miranda turns to the next page, sighing in a most familiar way. “To call it mediocre would be a kindness. No, this is a disgrace.”

Andy waits for Miranda to elaborate further, but nothing else is forthcoming. Instead, the only sounds in the room are the sizzling of bacon and the brisk flipping of pages as Miranda persists.

“Do we need to talk about Nigel?” Andy asks quietly, turning to concentrate on the stove.  “I’m sure he thought he was being helpful.”

“So very helpful,” Miranda mutters.  

Andy looks up in surprise. “You think he was trying to hurt you?”

“Oh, I doubt that was his conscious goal,” Miranda states, abruptly shutting the _Book_. “No, I’m sure he considered it a friendly reminder about not repeating a past mistake.”

At that, Andy stops her preparations, turning down the heat on the stove. She picks up her own cup, and takes a sip of coffee, waiting with anticipation. Despite their reunion, she’s well aware there’s still a lot that remains a mystery about her former boss.

Miranda clears her throat. “After my first divorce, and before I met Stephen, there was someone else.”

“A woman?” Andy murmurs.

“Yes,” Miranda says, removing her glasses. “She was a junior editor at another magazine. We were together a year, in secret.“ A flicker of pain crosses her face. “She wanted to make it official and I...I wasn’t ready.”  
  
“Okay,” she says, turning off the stove. “I’m assuming there’s more?”

“You could say that,” Miranda replies, looking everywhere except at Andy. “She was devastated and told me she regretted the day she ever met me. She eventually quit her job and left the country.”  
  
“And I’m guessing Nigel’s aware of all that.”  
  
“Indeed,” Miranda confirms, finally meeting her eyes. “After her dramatic exit from a well-attended gallery opening you could say the jig was up.” Miranda gives an uncharacteristic shrug and adds, “Luckily for me, a few well-placed incentives kept that tidbit out of the media, though rumours persist in certain circles of course.”  
  
“I’m not that woman, Miranda,” Andy says gently. “And right now, I don’t want to go public about us.”  
  
“Are you ashamed of people knowing about me?”  
  
“Of course not,” Andy says, walking over to Miranda. “But, we both know the paparazzi loves a scandal.” She runs her fingers through Miranda’s hair, “You’re still married and I have no desire to read about my sex life on Page Six.”

“I feel the same way. We don’t need any unnecessary drama, especially at this stage of your career, Andréa.”  

“Okay,” Andy says placing her hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “And just so you know, I have absolutely no problem telling Nigel to butt out of things that don’t concern him.”  

“And lose your favourite stylist?”  
  
“Why would I need Nigel’s advice when I have Miranda Priestly at my beck and call?”  

Miranda smiles up at her. “That’s right, darling. Why settle for the moon when the stars are within your grasp.”  
  
“Exactly. I try not to make the same mistake twice,” Andy says, resting her hand on Miranda’s cheek. “Now, let’s stop talking about Nigel and start concentrating on us.”

“Agreed,” Miranda says with a smile.

Andy moans a little as warm fingers start to play with the waistband of her pyjamas. “I thought you wanted to wait?”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Of course you have,” Andy murmurs without complaint.

 


	7. All of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda and Andy finally turn their dreams into reality.
> 
> (This was a little sexier than I’d planned, so this chapter’s rating is a soft M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to everyone who has commented and/or left kudos. 
> 
> And eagle-eyed readers may have spotted there’s one more chapter to go. I wanted this chapter, short as it is, to be purely about their first time.

_Love your curves and all your edges_  
_All your perfect imperfections_  
_Give your all to me  
I’ll give my all to you_

_All of Me - John Legend_

 

Over the years, Miranda has survived multiple disappointments - distant parents, cheating spouses and inadequate staff - and though she lives in hope, very few experiences ever meet her expectations. Thankfully, being intimate with Andréa proves to be a delightful exception, a most welcome deviation from her norm.

“You’re very overdressed,” Miranda whispers, the moment they enter her bedroom. From the kitchen to the second floor of the townhouse they’d indulged in passionate kisses and gentle caresses, but she was adamant that their first time would be in the comfort of her king-size bed. Still, she counts not sinking to her knees in the kitchen as one of her greatest accomplishments.

“So are you,” Andréa says, “let me do something about that.”

Andréa’s fingers make quick work of the buttons of Miranda’s pyjama top. She plans to return the favour immediately, but soft hands on her breasts push that thought from her mind.

“God,” she says in awe. Though she’s imagined exactly this for months on end, her imagination has been greatly lacking. Such a occurrence is so rare as to be almost unbelievable.

“Right,” Andréa agrees with a sigh. “This is even better than I dreamed.”

Miranda intends to reply but warm lips around her left nipple leave her speechless. The rush of heat through her body and the throbbing of her clit convince her that words at this point are unnecessary. Instead, her hands pluck at the waistband of Andréa’s pyjama pants. Now is the time when actions do indeed speak louder than words.

******

Afterwards they fall asleep, exhausted by both their exertions and the early start to the day. When Miranda wakes her left arm is wrapped around Andréa. Glancing down, she’s instantly captivated by the peaceful look on her lover’s sleeping face.

She runs her right hand through tangles of soft, brown hair and wonders how she could have ever thought this wonderful woman was ordinary. Miranda is rarely wrong, but her initial assumption about Andréa surely qualifies. Well, at least she’d realised her mistake before it was too late.

“So perfect,” she murmurs, reluctantly removing her hand. She runs the same hand through her own hair, try to establish some sort of order. By now, she must look like a complete mess.

“Nu-uh, you are,” Andréa whispers, and when Miranda looks down she’s greeted by a contented smile.

“How long have you been awake?” Miranda asks, running a finger across Andréa’s cheekbone.

“Not long,” Andréa replies, with a yawn. “I was dreaming I was a cat and when I woke up you were stroking my hair. Best wake up call, ever.”

“How awake are you, darling?” Miranda asks as she disentangles herself from Andrea’s body. Such a beautiful body it is, too. Regardless of her mood at the time, Miranda’s ashamed she ever referred to it as fat. Time to make amends with an extended act of worship.

Andréa’s eyes widen in what Miranda hopes is delighted anticipation.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let me show you again how happy I am to have you in my bed,” Miranda says with a smile. “And my life,” she adds.

******

Andy lets out a moan as Miranda’s tongue circles her clit. After months of fantasy, she still can’t believe she’s naked in Miranda’s bed with the woman in question between her legs. She gazes down and revels once again at the vision before her. Miranda’s hair is a complete mess and yet she doesn’t seem to care. Indeed, the only thing Miranda seems to care about is driving Andy mad with ecstasy.

A few minutes later, two fingers enter her and curl just so. As her lover sets a perfect rhythm, a stream of nonsensical words trickle from Andy’s mouth and she stops thinking about everything other than the feel of Miranda’s tongue and fingers.

When she reaches her peak, a single word escapes her lips in a breathy cry  - “Miranda.”

For several minutes she just lays on her back, catching her breath. When she does manage to look at Miranda she confirms a fact that until now was pure conjecture. Even with her hair in disarray and the evidence of Andy’s arousal on her lips, Miranda is so beautiful.

“Come here,” she murmurs, watching with appreciation as Miranda moves from between her legs and gracefully settles beside her on the bed.

“As I suspected,” Andy says, shifting to her side so she can better see her lover. “Absolute perfection. Is there anything Miranda Priestly doesn’t do well?” She leans across and gently kisses Miranda, hoping it conveys all her love and appreciation.

“Not much,” Miranda confirms moments later, her eyes aglow. 

“Do those legendary skills extend to the kitchen?” she asks. Abandoning breakfast for sex will always be a sound plan, but her stomach is now making its displeasure known.

“The twins swear by my french toast,” Miranda replies, and the pride on her face is possibly the cutest thing Andy’s ever seen.

Andy sits up in a rush and scoots over to the edge of the bed. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Passed over for food,” Miranda sighs, “so much for my legendary perfection. Clearly, I’m out of practice.”

Peering over her shoulder, Andy is relieved to see a gleam of amusement in Miranda’s eyes.

“Not at all,” she says, rising from the bed and holding out a hand to Miranda. “Think of it as necessary refuelling.”

Miranda clasps her hand and teases, “Nice save, Andréa.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thanks to S who saw the first draft of this chapter and very gently provided some spot-on advice. Very grateful - you were right :)
> 
> And to Nival_Vixen who always says ‘yes’ when I ask, ‘do you have time to read something for me?’ Thanks, matey.


End file.
